Sharpe backed away, readying to accept the unexpected invitation, but just then a voice hailed Barker from high among the trees. It was Lavisser. Barker shot a warning look at Sharpe, then the voice called again. “Barker!”
“Down here, sir!” Barker shouted, then looked at Sharpe. “He’ll have a gun, Lieutenant.”
Sharne stayed. He had seen Lavisser fire both his pistols and he doubted either one would be reloaded. There was a chance, he thought, a very small chance that he could hold Lavisser here until the redcoats came.
The redcoats had to come soon for up on the hill top the Danes were dying. Only the sailors had the discipline to reload, but they also had the sense to retreat. They grabbed their wounded and dragged them back to the woods and, one by one, the remaining militiamen tried to follow them. The platoon firing punched the eardrums as smoke drifted thick and foul across the bloodied grass where the tiny fires burned. One of the two Danish sergeants tried to rouse the cowering men, but he was hit in the throat. He did a pirouette, feet tangling, as blood jetted from his gullet. He continued to turn as he sank down, then he crumpled and his musket slid along the grass. Bullets were thumping into corpses, twitching them.
“Hold your fire!” a voice called.
“Cease fire!”
“Charge bayonets!”
“Skirmishers forward!”
Lavisser had found Barker’s discarded horse and rode it down the hill to see his servant facing Sharpe. The renegade looked surprised, then smiled. “What on earth are you doing here, Richard?” He sounded oddly cheerful.
“Came to get you.”
Lavisser glanced up the hill. The remnants of his force were running and the British must have been approaching the trees, but he sounded quite unworried. “Bloody militia. Redcoats are good, though. How are you, Richard?”
“Taken up dentistry, have you?” Sharpe sneered. “Failed as a bloody soldier so you draw teeth now?”
“Oh, Richard.” Lavisser sounded disappointed. “You should leave attempts at wit to the witty.”
Sharpe raised the saber as Barker stirred, but the big man was just moving to stand between Sharpe and Lavisser. “You’re not fighting for Denmark,” Sharpe said to Lavisser, “but for the Frogs.”
“Comes to the same thing, Richard,” Lavisser said cheerfully. He drew a pistol, then pulled a cartridge from a pouch. “Denmark is a little country,” Lavisser explained when he had pulled a cartidge open with his teeth, “and she was always going to be raped by either Britain or France. Britain has got her pleasure in first, but all she’ll do is drive Denmark into France’s arms, and I really can’t imagine that the Emperor will want to leave dim Frederick as Crown Prince. No, he’ll be looking for some splendid and vigorous young man to be his ruler here.” He poured powder into the barrel. Barker took a step toward Sharpe who slashed the saber to drive the servant back. “It’s all right, Barker,” Lavisser said, “I shall take care of the Lieutenant.”
“I told him he could go,” Barker said. “He’s been in the city, sir, but he’s leaving.”
Lavisser raised his eyebrows. “You are generous, Barker.” He looked at Sharpe. “I don’t really want to kill you, Richard. I rather like you. Does that surprise you? I suppose that’s not important, is it? What’s important is that Mister Skovgaard is now unguarded. Is that a safe assumption?”
“Assume what you like,” Sharpe said.
“How very obliging of you, Richard.” Lavisser rammed the bullet home, then paused and looked reflective. “A nauseatingly dull man, our Ole. He’s the kind of fellow I really dislike. He’s so upright, so hard-working, so bloody pious. He’s an affront to me.” He lifted the frizzen to prime the gun. “Pretty daughter, though.”
Sharpe used the efficacious word. Lavisser laughed, then a shout up the hill made him turn. A skirmish line had appeared among the trees. Sharpe had been expecting it. “Down here!” he shouted. “Down here! Quick!”
A musket fired and the ball tore leaves to shreds above Lavisser. Men were coming fast and quick and Lavisser did not finish priming the pistol, but just turned the horse. “Au revoir, Richard!” he called.